


After-Effects

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, fuckyeahurbine, in sickness and in health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one will Chris feels bad and Karl is sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After-Effects

**Author's Note:**

> from this prompt at [fuckyeahurbine](http://fuckyeahurbine.tumblr.com): karl felt sick after the whole neutron ordeal and turns out he was actually coming down with something. filming that day is canceled and when chris turns out it's because karl is sick he makes sure he is taken care of.

Chris doesn’t like guilt. No, scratch that, Chris fucking _hates_ guilt. Even, well, fake guilt. It washes away the same, stains him the same color, gets him to this same hallway where he’s got his right hand raised and paused in front of a door while his left hand clutches a Sav-On bag like his life depends on it.

He breathes in, reminds himself he’s a God damn grown-up, and knocks.

"Yeah," comes from within. Chris tries the door, and is only mildly surprised when it opens. Karl is slightly forgetful and slightly— well, naive is the best way Chris can put it. Chris who spent his whole life learning to lock doors even with full daylight and a cop across the street because you just never knew. He tries not to think about Karl’s breezy attitude about locked doors. The doorman is sweet, but Chris’s mom could probably take him down without much effort.

He pauses at the landing to toe off his Chucks. “It’s Chris,” he calls out.

"Yeah," comes back, and he can hear the hoarseness now. "Larry warned me."

"That bastard," Chris says with zero heat as he wanders into the modest living room of the suite and finds Karl on the couch, surrounded by wadded up tissues and looking like death.

"He’s watching out for me," Karl says, crooked smile on his face. The smile grows when he sees what Chris is holding. "Just like you are, I see."

"Well, sure." Chris doesn’t meet his eyes, busies himself with getting out the OJ and Nyquil and Emergen-C and eighteen bottles of distilled water.

Karl chuckles. It’s a wet sound and Chris winces. “Paying penance, then.”

"Forgive me, Father, for I have been a dickwad."

"Really?"

Chris straightens up from putting the things on the coffee table. “…kinda?” He shifts his weight. “I mean—”

"Hey." There’s a hand grabbing at his wrist, and Chris looks up, meets Karl’s gaze. "Come here."

Chris clears his throat. “I’ll catch it. Whatever it is you have.”

"Then we’ll consider your penance paid, all right?"

Chris grins. Really grins, for the first time that day. His chest feels significantly less weighed down.

He leans down, frames Karl’s pale, unshaven face with his hands, and presses their lips together. “Deal.”


End file.
